Aftermath
by Knuckles027
Summary: A lone ex-CIA operative suffers through the aftermath of a global pandemic, struggling to forgive himself for what he'd done to survive, both before and after the end. First story, please review.


**AFTERMATH**

**01. Limitless**

_July 2006_

I sat uncomfortably in a dark room, my palms sweating. A man in a dark suit paced in front of me. I avoided his gaze, focusing on the manila folder tucked under his arm. It took a few moments before he finally opened his mouth.

"I want you to understand something."

At last I looked up at him. He looked stern, unsympathetic to what I was about to go through.

"From now on, your name is officially Chris Reeves. You were born and raised in San Antonio, Texas, not Duncan, Arizona…"

He continued to ramble, tossing the manila folder onto the metal table. Several pieces of paper poked out of the dossier. I swallowed; closing my eyes as I nervously slid the file toward me. My hands trembled as I flicked to page one. My face stared back with a serious look, and my new identity was penned underneath. New birthdate, new social security number, new family, new address, everything…

"Whoever you were before? He no longer exists. He's gone. Anyone or anything associated with that man… you know nothing, understand?"

I inhaled deeply, letting it sink in. Everything I'd achieved, everyone I knew, they all had to be let go. Including my ex-girlfriend, Naomi.

I heard the footsteps stop, and I raised my head back up to my superior. He had a slight smirk on his face, extending his hand.

I reluctantly shut Naomi out of my mind. At the time, I couldn't fully comprehend what I was getting into, but my hand had already gripped his. I shook it, submitting to my new fate.

"Welcome to the CIA deep cover division, Chris."

* * *

_October 2014_

After that, I spent years roaming the world, completing several covert operations for the government. A life without rules. A life without friends. It just so happens to be the perfect way to describe this new world.

Because everybody's dead.

Honestly, I prefer it this way. It was difficult reintegrating back into society upon the termination of my work at the CIA. Stumbling through life, lost… much like the dead are now. I figured God and I both had something in common, a dark sense of humour. The "freedom" I'd sacrificed so much for had finally manifested, but only because society had completely collapsed.

Now it was kill or be killed. Simple. Helped that I was exceptional at the former.

Operating alone had its benefits. Not that I had much choice anyway. I hadn't met any living being for almost two weeks, and the last person I'd met caught a bullet in the head courtesy of my Beretta. He had it coming.

Several other things were on my mind, but I shifted them aside in favour of concentrating on the road ahead. Rain poured heavily as I sped down the old highway on my motorcycle. Darkness had already swallowed the sky, and I needed to find shelter. I was tired, and alone. I hadn't slept in over thirty hours, but that was hardly a new record for me. Navigating the wet road with dozens of the walking dead aimlessly wandering around and my eyes half shut proved to be quite difficult. The wind pierced my face as I weaved in and out, taking in small doses of their disgusting stench.

Ahead, an old, narrow bridge came into view. It may have been a nice place once, but gloom had taken over with the dark clouds overhead, the rain pouring and the rusting cars strewn all over the road. I slowed down, but maintained a reasonable pace, else risk being dragged right off the seat. The bridge was narrow, leaving very little room to manoeuvre. Initially, only three zombies were visible, with two stragglers roaming the edges.

I dodged them with ease, the exhaust blowing smoke on their blank faces. But the third figure remained still. Despite my rapid approach, he barely moved an inch. I felt my hands turn ice cold. His demeanour was strange. His head bowed down and he was draped in a black outfit complete with a ballistic vest and a bandana, an unusual outfit. Something was off. His hands were bound together. My heart raced as my weary brain struggled to process the image. It was a familiar one. One I saw almost every night when I could catch some sleep. He raised his head, and stared at me with his pale white eyes. I recoiled in surprise.

It was my best friend.

I acted in the heat of the moment, and swerved crudely to the side. The slippery road jerked my motorcycle out of control. Still maintaining speed, I collided with a car. My fingers slipped from the handlebars, and I was sent careening into the air. I yelled as I flipped over the vehicle, landing on my side. The momentum sent me rolling sideways before coming to a halt beside the guardrail of the bridge. My face burned as I turned my head back.

He was gone. As I'd expected.

The bang had resonated across the valley. A chorus of howls had followed suit. I sucked in deep breaths, trying to regain composure as I slowly sat up. My hand reached for my holstered Beretta as my back flashed with pain. I surveyed the little open space I had. Ordinarily, I restricted myself to a few shots reserved only for emergency situations. Otherwise, flight was the preferable option.

Unsurprisingly, I counted more than four zombies emerging from behind several car wrecks. The rain covered their approach, restricting my vision. Behind, the two zombies I'd sped past were accompanied by two more that I hadn't spotted in the downpour. They walked in unison, and I had to give them credit. For a bunch of reanimated corpses with no brain processing power, they had good instincts. There was virtually nowhere to go as both sides were blocked by a wall of walking corpses.

I analysed my dilemma. Fatigue dictated I wouldn't get too far on foot. The motorcycle was still humming, but by the time I summoned enough strength to climb over the car and raise the bike back up, I'd be swarmed.

Gripping my gun tight, I figured to at least stand up before making the final decision. Adrenaline kicked in. I staggered to my feet, using the guardrail as support. The wind was blowing strong, making it harder for me to concentrate. Both the southern and northern routes blocked, and I was completely enclosed. My options had reduced to just one, but the bridge was a fair distance above the raging waters below. I looked back at the approaching zombies to confirm my lack of choices.

I shook my head, vaulting the rail without thinking the whole plan through. I gripped it tight as the back of my feet hovered over the edge. The zombies stumbled closer. I did my best to control my breathing, but getting repeatedly thrust into life threatening situations never got any easier. Two of them were mere feet away, their stench filling my nostrils. The nearest one reached for my wrist. Out of time and luck, I spat in its face and released the rail. My body relaxed, but my heart pounded as I slipped backward. The groans phased out, replaced by the sound of wind and the crashing water. I closed my eyes and held my breath. For a second my back felt the immense pain.

Then everything went black.


End file.
